


Look Behind You (I promise, I love you.)

by definitionangel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Boys wear corsets and dresses because I want them to, Healer Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, M/M, Mentions of Assasinations, Moral Ambiguity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Dong Si Cheng | WinWin, Read at Your Own Risk, Rebel Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, and also execution, and also kidnapping, mentions of other Idols
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitionangel/pseuds/definitionangel
Summary: The Monarchy controls everything, so Sicheng lives a comfortable life at the top of the food chain, staring down terrified subjects dying below his mini blimps.The Rebellion tries give citizens a better life, so Ten smiles as the blood of the rich drips down his blade, redder than the lip tints and rubies the Nobility like to wear.The Sanctuary is here to offer assistance to those who need it, so Doyoung heals anyone that ends up inside their gates, ready to lend a helping hand to those who need it.(Except it's not like that. At all.)
Relationships: Choose your own side parings, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. The Monarchy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Yes, before you read this, please take into consideration that English is NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE and I have to translate my drafts before I post, so commenting about any mistakes I make will really help me.
> 
> I know I have not tagged Rape and Graphic depictions of violence YET. If things like this trigger you, please DO NOT READ. It won't be in this chapter but it will be mentioned in future chapters. Your safety is important to me and I don't want you to be surprised when this happens. If you want to read, I WILL WARN YOU WHEN WE GET TO THAT POINT. I care about you and I want you to be safe. Do not read if you think you're going to be hurt by this. 
> 
> Another thing is the world has a TON of humanitarian crisises going on right now, please take your time to educate yourselves on them. This is not an exhaustive list, and if you can help, please do!  
> https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/  
> https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/article/muslims-held-in-chinas-detention-camps-speak-out/  
> http://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/  
> https://standwithhongkong.carrd.co/

Sicheng fastens his veil over his face, securing it by placing a diadem on his head. The servants aren’t supposed to see his face, cannot touch his hair, even the ones who help him get dressed. Hair is sacred, his mother preaches, no one is allowed to touch it, to see it down bar his future husband or wife. It’s a container of magic, she says, and allowing anyone to touch his hair is disrespecting himself and his magic. (It’s a way to control the people, Sicheng thinks, as the Monarchy controls the clocks and decide when the artificial sun gets to shine because of their affinity with light and time.)

“Can I come in, Your Grace?” Jaehyun calls, and Sicheng rolls his eyes. Jaehyun used to be one his closest friends, before whatever happened to his brother’s first entourage happened, and then suddenly Jaehyun became a lot more reserved, a lot more cautious around him. Sicheng bets it’s because of his father, who takes offense at any little thing, from something being two centimeters out of place to servants who dare look at his face.

“Come in, Jaehyun,” Sicheng says, sitting at his vanity. The veil obscures his own vision, just as it hides his face from everyone else. He can’t see his face from underneath the veil, which renders his makeup skills nearly useless. Sicheng supposes it’s his ancestors faults, so focused and obsessed with being different that they had to invent reasons to be different, if the corsets and giant, hooped dresses said anything about them.

“Suck it in, your grace.” Jaehyun says, hands on the ribbons that cord his corset together. Sicheng hasn’t figured out what use a tiny waist is if his skirts are so large he has trouble fitting through normal doorways yet. It’s probably just a dumb beauty thing they invented to laugh at the commoners. At least he gets to choose the colors, and isn’t restricted to black and brown, like the rest of the world is, he likes his cornflower blues and cream whites, thank you very much.

Lacing up the dress always takes so much work, and the lace gloves are unnecessary too, but his mother says it’s important to always look his best even if all he’s doing is walking in the gardens, even if he just is having a meeting with his suitors, who are equally fed up with the clothing that they are forced to wear.

“Jaehyun,” Sicheng says, watching him from the mirror as Jaehyun gathers all the unnecessary things that Sicheng has to take with him to the gardens. He’s having a picnic with the Xiao heir and the Wong heir, who only became heir after his elder brother disappeared one day, who the Wongs swear up and down the Rebellion took. It happened not long after his brother’s entourage disappeared, anyways. “Do you know what happened to Ten and Doyoung?”

“Your Grace,” Jaehyun stutters, ears turning red. It happens every morning, everytime Sicheng asks about what happened to Kun’s entourage. “I tell you every morning, I’ve already told you everything I know.”

“Come on Jaehyun,” Sicheng scoffs, “You know more than what you’re telling me.”

“And I tell you every time,” Jaehyun says, “I do not.”

The air is tense, but Sicheng backs down, as he does every time. Jaehyun knows why he wants to find those two in particular, and it’s frustrating that he won’t tell Sicheng, but Sicheng has to deal with it, because Jaehyun must have his own reasons for keeping quiet about their friends. Kun knows more too, but he won’t tell him either, and Sicheng has a better chance at getting Jaehyun to talk then Kun, so he won’t try with Kun, either, even if he wants to do it so badly. 

“Come along, Jaehyun,” Sicheng says, feeling like the snootiest person in the world. He is an entitled little brat, he has been told by his mother, but he also can’t bring himself to care. His mother is also an entitled little brat and thus her opinion doesn’t count. Besides. There are always cameras to watch out for. There are always people watching and there’s never a second of rest. 

Travelling through the gilded halls of the royal chambers makes him wonder what kind of other extravagances the upper classes spend while the lower classes are working in back breaking work, while children are shipped off to work in factories and those that do have enough money to get by day by day are always afraid of robbery and debtors prisons. He doesn’t even walk from place to place by himself, Jaehyun driving him through the halls on a mini blimp. His mother says that walking is for the peasantry and common folk and it is preserving of their dignity to ride on these blimps, but Sicheng finds the velvet seats of his blimp uncomfortable, as he looks down on the rows of bowing servants, all having to stop work to acknowledge his presence. 

Stepping out of the blimp from candlelit halls into The Gardens, where it is lit by the artificial sun and stars that his family has created is jarring. There is so much greenery and color, compared to the browns, coppers, whites and blacks the rest of the world is drenched under, and it is so bright, that Sicheng has to blink a few times, even with the veil covering his eyes. There are so many muted colors, so many flowers and the air is so fresh and sweet Sicheng wonders if he’s really is in the same city.

The Gardens is a misleading name, meant to make the people living outside their castle believe that the Monarchy has been able to save some of the plant life from before. The gardens are filled with machinery that mimic flowers and plants, fake rose petals glinting in the light because they’re made of copper. Scents are diffused through the Garden to mimic the description of actual flowers that people used to have and see.

Of course, the Monarchy is the only ones who know of this secret. His father always says its so they don’t have to hire people to care for the flowers, which he doubts anyone knows how to anymore, even with the abundance of notes from plant witches that have been saved from the Destruction. Sicheng thinks it’s because the soil can no longer support life, with the way they abuse the materials they are given, day by day, throwing away excess “food” when there are people starving in the streets, wearing a ballgown once and never touching it again, not relighting a candle when it goes out, etc.

Sicheng doubts that there is anywhere that can support life anymore, wonders if plant witches still exists. He wonders if there is a place on earth where potioneers don’t mix chemicals to produce their desired effects anymore.

“Pleasure to see you your Grace,” He hears, looking over to where the two heirs have dipped into a bow, both wearing suits of fake silk, glistening lightly in the light. 

“Rise, Heir Xiao, Heir Wong.” Sicheng nods, “It is my pleasure to welcome you to The Gardens. Right, I am sure you both know what you are here for.”

Technically, they are here because his mother wants to find a suitable husband for him, determined to have him married off before he becomes an old maid like Lady Bae, who once had many suitors, but has rejected them all, determined to remain single forever. The Bae family is now desperately trying to find a suitable heir for when Lady Bae passes away. To be very honest, Sicheng approves of her choice to remain unmarried. It’s said that she’s been using her wealth to sponsor the children of struggling families, and it looks good on the Monarchy, so they let her be.

Sicheng has another reason for inviting them over. The two of them know the double meaning, the code in their letters making it very explicit that they were over to discuss the Rebellion. As the Second Prince, Sicheng is not supposed to dabble in politics at all. That is for the First and Third Princes only, but it’s not like Sicheng cares much for the rules that allow people to suffer and delude them into believing the Monarchy without question.

In such a society, one would believe that the Rebellion was a good thing, trying to bring down the oppressive rule in the country and help people into better places, so they don’t have to starve on the streets as the rich float around, high and mighty, in their blimps from one place to another. There is no escape from Suffering for the poor, all their necks are hanging on a string about to snap.

“Yes, your highness.” The Wong Heir says, after an exceedingly long pause. “What is there that you must tell us in person?”

Sicheng feels sorry for the Wong Heir. After their first son went missing twelve years ago, the Second Son had to step up and take his elder brother’s place as the Heir. Up until then, the Wong heir had been just like him, spoilt and meant to be a pretty face to marry off in an attempt to get closer to the throne. He cannot fault the boy for being impatient, the longer they spend the more likely some type of scandal will appear, even if Jaehyun is, as always, tailing behind Sicheng’s giant dress.

Sicheng looks at the two heirs, blurry through the veil. His diadem is heavy on his head, “Lady Kang and Lady Bae have informed me that they have discovered some type of ‘sanctuary’ whilst travelling from one city to another. They say they have life.”

The two heirs look at each other, and Sicheng cannot see what type of expression they have because his dratted veil is very annoying, but Sicheng cannot help but hope Doyoung and Ten are there, that they have somehow not died yet outside of the cities. If anyone could find out how to grow things in a wasteland it would be Kun’s former entourage, too smart and too outspoken to live comfortably in the palace. It might seem impossible, but he trusts Seulgi and Joohyun, trusts them for accurate information. He might not be close to them, but they share the same goal.

“Would you like us to attempt at contacting this sanctuary, your grace?” The Xiao heir asks, possibly catching onto the hopeful tone dancing in his voice.

“Yes please, Thank you both so much.” Sicheng replies, and if his hands are shaking neither comments on it. “Heir Xiao, Heir Wong. If either of you hear from my mother please remember your duties. Jaehyun, do you have the tea?”

Tea is expensive and only the Monarchy the direct descendants of the King may drink it. This tea isn’t even the Tea that used to be grown and stewed, instead someone extracted the chemicals from the leaves, found a way to create it and profited, and they lost the Tea plants in the process. The only thing left is the overly complicated Tea Ceremonies and Sicheng doesn’t find a use for the ceremony, especially because there are no more tea leaves to brew anyways. It already comes in liquified form, in the pot.

The porcelain teapot shimmers in the light, glossy and not broken like so many other relics of the past. Sometimes he wonders where his mother found the glazed white, using techniques that have since been lost to time and their own negligence.

“Here, Your Grace,” Jaehyun offers the cup to Sicheng first, and Sicheng wonders why his hands are so stiff when he does. Sicheng watches Jaehyun as he hands two other teacups to Heir Xiao and Heir Wong, just as stiff, and not stiffly formal, but stiff as in he’s afraid of them finding something out. His ears are slightly red, from what Sicheng can see of them. Well now Sicheng must know what is that Jaehyun and Kun are hiding from him, after all, this puts all their necks on the line. 

Sicheng finds the fact that Jaehyun even thinks he can keep a secret from him a funny thought. Sicheng could just have him outed if he did something wrong, or even keeping secrets. Sicheng’s not that horrible though, so he won’t. He tries his best to be better than his parents, and does everything within reason that his parents would not do, if only to spite them, so he will not out Jaehyun for whatever secret Jaehyun is hiding.

Later, as Jaehyun helps him back to his room, the only place he’s allowed to be when he has no visitors, he looks at Jaehyun for a while, uncaring if Jaehyun catches him staring. He’s wearing the uniform of all Palace Staff, with an additional emblem on his necklace. The necklace is almost like a collar, and Sicheng’s pretty sure Chenle’s giant dogs have more comfortable collars than the necklace that the palace staff wear.

It’s an interesting thought. 

Jaehyun is absolutely not allowed to know more than him, Sicheng decides, especially about such important matters as this. It is clear that Jaehyun knows what’s going on with this sanctuary that he had mentioned, Sicheng had noticed his entire body freezing whenever Sicheng mentioned the Sanctuary.

Sanctuaries technically aren’t supposed to exist, outside of the jurisdiction of the Monarchy. Any place inside the country that the Monarchy doesn’t know about, even if it’s in the middle of the Wastelands and no one but rebels live there, is illegal. Everyone has to follow the law, the words of his mother and father. To have things that exist outside of that in their own country is a thought that is too much to bear for his mother’s delicate mental constitution. 

Inside the safety of his own room, sprawled on couch after replacing his giant hoop skirts for a more manageable tea dress, he watches as Jaehyun takes his post by the door. “Jaehyun.”

“Yes, Your Grace?” Jaehyun replies, but he seems slightly distant. “What is it you need?”

“I need you to tell me the whole truth.” Ah, Jaehyun’s ears are becoming red already. Funny that he still thinks he can keep a secret. “What happened to Elder brother’s first Entourage, and where, if they are still alive, are they now?”

Sicheng’s definitely worried about if they are still alive or not, because his parents do have a habit of sending people to death that Sicheng is not worried about at all. Kun and Jaehyun had no intention of telling him, and they still do not, even if they knew what some of that entourage meant to him.

Just thinking about them makes Sicheng happy, he can feel the warmth from the thoughts, but he can’t get lost in them like he likes to. He needs answers, and he needs them now. “Jaehyun, I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Your Grace,” Jaehyun has come closer, creeping as if he’s afraid of waking a beast. “I really have told you all I know.”

“I guess you leave me no choice then, Jaehyun,” Sicheng scoffs, gesturing to the satchel of letters by his desk. “Open that Satchel, Jaehyun, and tell me what you think they are. If these letters had fallen into Their Majesties’ hands, what do you think would have happened to you?”

And if Sicheng has been stealing Jaehyun’s mail and stopping it from getting to him to prove a point, no one will know, and know one will care. He is the second prince after all, and in the end, they have no choice to accept what orders he gives. 

“So tell me, Jaehyun,” Sicheng says, rolling over to look at Jaehyun’s horrified face, “What do you know?”


	2. The Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sixth ball drops, signalling the start for factories to start operating, and a signal for Ten to get going. He has things to plan, people to spirit away, and a labor system to topple. If everything goes according to plan, Sicheng will know freedom soon.

The compound is mostly devoid of life, as all things in this country are. It’s situated underground so as to not be noticed by any flying blimps that might be passing over, and it stretches between all the major cities, an ugly underground reflection of the world above it, made with dirt and blood instead of rusted metal and tears. (It’s a lot uglier though, without the gleaming of the broken metal and tears, the deep red of the bleeding rich mostly blend in with the already bloodsoaked cakey ground of the wasteland.) Most of the Rebellion likes such conditions, it reminds them of the slums they used to live in, underneath the network of blimps that the rich used so as to not dirty their feet.

For Ten, it should be normal living conditions. He used to serve in the Palace of Eternal Spring after all, aptly nicknamed The Puppetmaster’s Home. In fact, he should be used to worse conditions, after all assassins aren’t known to have comfortable lodgings, even if they are the Rebellion’s most useful assets. 

Mark is on the opposite end of the large planning chamber, watching him with narrowed eyes. His hands are tucked unthreateningly into his sides, body loose to the normal observer. Ten, however, knows better. It’s the stance that allows the young sniper to pull out close range guns if necessary. Ten doesn’t blame him. Not only do they have to be alert, ears constantly listening to nothing, eyes looking at invisible things, hands feeling for bullets and guns that are not there, developing all seven of the senses to the point where even through the worst of the Red Snow it’s possible to know exactly where and how something is moving.

Ten is also suspicious, although it’s for different reasons. Nothing can hurt him here, not when they’re too afraid of him. It’s not like anyone can hurt him even if he wanted them to anyways, so it doesn’t matter to him. However, it’s not often, after all, that the two of them see each other anymore, especially not after Mark had followed in his footsteps, terrifying both Doyoung and Taeyong and causing at least one meltdown from their other little sanctuary birds. It must be a big project to have them both here. It’s been even longer since Ten has gone on a group assignment (the last time had been taking the eldest Wong heir, and boy, he hasn’t had that much fun in a long time), so Ten hopes that this time is equally as fun and exciting. (Does Mark know the reason why Lucas lives in the sanctuary with Doyoung and the rest of them is because of one of these assignments?)

“Ahem.” A girl appears by Mark’s side, eyes boring into Ten’s frame. “Do you know why we were called here today?”

“Yeri!” Mark scolds, quiet, but Ten can hear him anyways. Did he forget who was his mentor? No matter, if they are working together the Bosses believe that Mark is good enough. Ten will trust them on this (even if he doesn’t trust them to not run off with something that is worth more than two commoner metal hair sticks, which is to say, not much).

The Bosses are late, like they always are. In all five years Ten’s been working for them, the Bosses have never been early. Ten holds it against them, especially when every moment in the cities count, just as every moment in the Wasteland is wasted time. The Bosses used to be Lesser Nobility, fed up with the ways of the Upper Nobility controlling everything, determined to take control of the throne for themselves. (It seems control of the train systems aren’t enough. It will never be enough.)

(In the Wasteland, people aren’t afraid to cannibalize others while they’re still on fire from the times that decides to rain fire. In the cities, people are both cowards and very good at time management and just let the dead rot in the gutters. It’s why the rich would never step out onto the streets. They’re always hovering right above the heads of the poor, a direct taunt to the people who work for them. In the wasteland, food is food, meat is meat.)

“How are they, sweet little Nightengale?” Ten asks, voice splintering the bleeding air. (Doyoung’s fine as always. He paid a little surprise visit last week, if only to mess up the Sanctuary’s infirmary a little. He was probably missing Sicheng, probably, but fine. The thought makes Ten bristle slightly. What is so good about Sicheng, anyways? Ten doesn’t really care about anyone else, least of all Taeyong, who Doyoung swore to grow old with. That’s a silly thought, growing old.)

Mark stutters a bit, and Ten smirks as an answer. No one expects Ten to care, of all people. His heart is beating quietly, slowed slightly, he doesn’t know if the place is still standing or not. “Well, little Nightingale? How are they?”

“They’re doing fine, last I checked. They’ve figured out how the Previous ones made silk,” Mark frowns for a moment, probably checking for the Bosses. Anything from the Previous world or made from organic material is precious, more precious than anything at all. Only the Monarchy is supposed to have that type of good stuff, everyone else is unworthy. (If anything, it’s the Monarchy that’s unworthy of that type of stuff, high and mighty as the people die of starvation and illness on their streets.) More than that, the Sanctuary is not supposed to exist. “The real stuff, not the stuff that they pass of as silk in the cities now.”

“Oh, really?” Ten laughs, because of course they have. They have Johnny and Yuta after all. The two of them are like out of control trains, refusing to let anything to stand in their way. Mark stiffens up suddenly, but it’s not because of Ten’s teasing tone (a shame. Mark had always had the best reactions to teasing, right after Doyoung, of course). The air moves, just slightly, but enough for Ten to know there’s someone coming. Ten calls out, voice echoing across the dusty chamber, shaking the walls slightly and making dirt fall from the walls. “Your Bossiness, has finally graced our worthless prescences. What is so important that I need to be on a team again? Are we kidnapping another Wong child?”

Renjun and Guanheng are good kids, but Ten wouldn’t mind kidnapping another Wong child. Faye Wong has been getting too demanding of her servants and factories lately. Ten thinks it’s about a good time to knock the dude down a few pegs again, remind him that he’s really no different from anyone else in the eyes of the Rebellion. (Ten likes doing things like this. It’s fun to watch the families panic afterwards as they realize that their richery and elitism and entitlement do nothing for them when people come searching for blood and retribution.)

“Yes.” The Boss says, voice frigid, scared, wavering. Ten smirks. “The Wongs have been getting too frisky lately. I need you to kill Wong Renjun by the end of the month.”

(What Ten hears is that the Wongs have been gaining traction with the Monarchy, that Wong Guanheng is one of the suitors that the Second Prince sees regularly. As much as Ten wants to slit Guanheng’s throat, he’s actually a good person, he would make a good lord. But Sicheng cannot like him. He cannot.)

“What the heck is a month?” Yeri blurts, bewildered. Ten keeps forgetting the Nobility have their own set of terms they like to lord over the common class to boost their own superiority complex. Yeri is smart. She won’t give another reaction like this to the bosses again.

The Boss smirks, his tone is rather condescending, and Ten just rolls his eyes. “By the end of the next moon cycle, Yeri. Anyways, discuss it amongst yourselves.” The ‘you walking gearheads’ is heavily implied as he walks away.

Ten wonders why he hasn’t killed the Boss yet and taken over sometimes. Then he remembers that even if he loves bossing people around it leaves less time for him to go take sneak visits with Sicheng and Doyoung, and then he puts off the murder for a little while. 

“Anyways, meet me here at sunset,” Ten squints at his nails, brushing the dust off of his black robes. “I have someone that I must pay a visit to before sunrise.”

Mark nods in acknowledgement. Ten is sure Mark understands, after all, being given such a long time for a deadline is just like asking the assassins to go visit their friend, if they have any. Ten has almost no doubt Mark will return to the Sanctuary, where he will, of course, be fussed over everyone, and then disappear again once sunset hits.

Ten dashes off in the direction of the Puppetmaster’s Home, determined to see Sicheng again before they move him to a different city. Returning to the surface world and breathing the rotting air is rather jarring. The air is stale, stunk of death and waste, and people are already waking, like the undead to start to go to work. The “sun” is still just below the horizon, grey light of the Monarchy’s magic about to start the days of all the people, dead and alive, mechanical or not. (It’s all the same in the city. The people are basically the same as the machinery.) That’s why no one looks twice at someone sprinting through the streets, right 

The large imposing gates of the Palace of Eternal Spring cut through the middle of the city, gleaming new copper and bronze and steel when the rest of the city has been painted through with cinders and blood. Ten jumps over the spikes separating the city center and the wall easily, scaling the wall with ease. Standing atop the wall, it is possible to see the difference, the sprawling green foliage of the fake garden, the windows of the royal family, the spires and towers, where it is possible to see the real sky from, it is possible to smell the false flower perfumed air, which is filtered, so none of the diseases and afflictions and smells that the commoners have to sit through every day reach the High Nobility or Monarchy.

It’s easy enough to jump off the wall, and scale the palace to enter Sicheng’s room. He watches Sicheng’s face, lax with sleep, hair spread over the bed, slightly muscled form wrapping around a memory foam pillow, a false silk blanket tucked against his side. The diffuser in the corner releases the scent of a flower that Ten hasn’t bothered to remember. If Doyoung were here, he would know, but he is not here. Doyoung is tucked away, safe, in a place no one dangerous knows exist.

Well, no one dangerous that would destroy the place, at the very least.

Ten brushes the silk blanket away to crawl into the bed behind Sicheng, unimpeded. It’s beautiful. Sicheng is beautiful. Ten wants to destroy it, take the beauty and tear it from glossy limb to glossy limb. The urge to take his knife and pull it through Sicheng’s black locks to steal it all for himself pulses through his hands, heart beating as he grabs a fistful, left hand reaching for a hidden knife.

Then he takes a breath. There is no reason for him to do this. He wouldn’t destroy something that Doyoung loves, if only to be the only person Doyoung loves. It would hurt him more to see his most beloved hurt, than to share his beloved’s love.

“Sicheng,” Ten whispers, mouth hovering over the shell of the Second Prince’s ear, hands tangled in Sicheng’s long black hair. “My precious Cheng-Cheng, Did you miss me?”

“Ten,” Sicheng warns, voice as ice cold and poised, with him as he is with anyone else, “Don’t be foolish. Mother will know someone’s touched my hair.”

Ten only laughs, because Zhao Lin is only a dusty little puppet, no more puppetmaster than her husband is. It’s nice that Sicheng is still afraid of his naggy little mother who thinks she holds an ounce of power though (He’s been away less than a month), or perhaps Sicheng is just tired of Zhao Lin’s nagging which is more probable. Even if Zhao Lin, the Queen, had power, Sicheng only need place the blame on Jaehyun to escape punishment, no one would believe anything Jaehyun says. It’s just the way this world is run. Sicheng is the very top of the ladder, what he says goes. His voice is light, unafraid, as he continues to twist and play at Sicheng’s hair, “Just throw Jaehyunnie into the factory machines.”

“I can’t do that,” Sicheng scoffs, pulling Ten’s hands from his hair, massaging the tough skin gently, “Jaehyun’s the only one I have a connection to here besides my brothers, even if he listens to the moronic blabbery that Kun spouts over me.”

“It’s not as if Jaehyun would hesitate to throw you into the metal caskets if he had the chance,” Ten whisper laughs, hand now clasped lightly around Sicheng’s throat. “Our precious little Doyo is just too good for this world. Just the other day he and Taeyong were talking about growing old together! Imagine two peasant boys growing old.”

(Ten really hopes it’s possible. If anyone deserves it, it’s them.)

“Hush now Ten,” Sicheng smiles, twisting his black hair into an elaborate hairstyle that no one but Ten will get to see. He stabs a jade hairpin through his hair, like Ten imagines doing to anyone who dares get in his way. “Let him dream. Besides, we’ll be out of this country before we know it.”

“Oh you silly thing,” Ten laughs, “I’m only here to take the third Wong son away, away, away from here.”

“I should have you thrown in the caskets for your insolence,” Sicheng smiles, biting down on the lip tint. Ten can feel his heart beating faster as Sicheng turns to him, hair done up, makeup painted on, and Ten will be the only one to see Sicheng’s hard work. “Well? What do you think, Sweetling? Aren’t I beautiful?”

“The most beautiful, Sicheng,” Ten whispers, moving to drape Sicheng’s veil over his head. He reaches for the delicate silver circlet Sicheng is fond of playing with but never wears. (It’s the one he wore the day they’d been banished to the Wastelands, where they were expected to die within half a moon cycle.) He sets it on Sicheng’s head, to secure the translucent veil. There’s a hint, only slightly, of possessiveness in his tone when he says, “Play your cards right and we’ll be free in no time.”

His words hang in the gilded air. It’s almost tangible, the future hidden behind a thinning fog. It’s something they’ve been talking about, running to the Wastelands or to the next kingdom over to start anew, with no status to keep them from being together.  _ Freedom _ is such an interesting concept, the closest thing that holds it is a place that Sicheng doesn’t know exists, busy trying to recultivate the land. 

“I’ll hold you to that, Ten.” Sicheng says, and it sounds heavy. It’s almost sadly hopeful. “Only a little bit longer, right?”

The false sun breaks from the horizon. Ten slips right back out the window, into the overly large yard, filled with whimsical things that amused the previous princes and princesses. He leans his back against the wall, exhausted for the first time in a while. He wants to go sneak back in but he cannot. If Jaehyun by any chance, or any other servant catches him visiting, he will be sent to the chair room for certain.

No one will see him here. None of the Monarchy or Higher Nobility come out during the morning, aware of the fact that the people are working and if they want their goods in endless supply like they always do, they should not bother the working.

The sixth ball drops, signalling the start for factories to start operating, and a signal for Ten to get going. He has things to plan, people to spirit away, and a labor system to topple. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder to please comment! I Beg you to comment, what you minutes to read takes me hours of writing and editing, and English is not my first language, so any feedback is helpful! Also if you want moodboards I have created them, but I don't post anything unless someone urges me to, so if you want them you have to ask :)
> 
> [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/definitionangel)  
> [ cc ](https://curiouscat.me/definitionangel)


	3. The Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky is a beautiful blue. The sun sparkles overhead, warming the orchard beneath it, shining brightly on the tinkling of laughter, song and life. The walls around the orchard are high, and made of stone, cloaking the place as a relic of the long forgotten past from the outside, marking the building behind it nothing but a ruin carved into the high granite cliffside behind it. It’s stone building blocks signal that there will be nothing but wasteland sand trapped between the walls, perhaps filled with skeletons of those once alive and thriving. 

The sky is a beautiful blue. The sun sparkles overhead, warming the orchard beneath it, shining brightly on the tinkling of laughter, song and life. The walls around the orchard are high, and made of stone, cloaking the place as a relic of the long forgotten past from the outside, marking the building behind it nothing but a ruin carved into the high granite cliffside behind it. It’s stone building blocks signal that there will be nothing but wasteland sand trapped between the walls, perhaps filled with skeletons of those once alive and thriving. 

What no one expects that between the tightly sealed gates and the tall cliffside is the last place in the kingdom where the food plants of the Previous world still grow, where herb gardens are still real, tea leaves still exist, and flowers still offer edible fruit.

Not even the Rebellion goes this far out into the wastelands, choosing to burrow beneath the airborne railways that always follow the dried up riverbeds that connect the cities instead of braving the terrifying deathlands that are between cities. It’s why no one knows that things adapt, that the Wastelands aren’t actually filled with dead things so far out. On the very outskirts of the cities, where the slums are, is a desert, filled with shattered buildings and broken roads, dusty, abandoned. If you pass the desert, the death and rotting, there are strange plants and animals that guard passage, terrifying enough to drive most back to the desert and die of thirst or starvation. You need to traverse the deep jungles of the unfamiliar, broken world caused by the wounds that the previous world created. This is why no one discovers that the Sanctuary is here, except if they know it is there already, or are foolish enough to trespass the gates of the Unknown.

(He’s not really sure how Ten gets here, it might be some type of assassin trick.)

His tea cup clinks gently on the stone surface of the table. The air is filled with laughter and song, drifting over from the shade of the orchards. His skirt is dirtied with mud, and dirt, his hands softly separating the velvet petals of leaves from their branches. The leaves go in a basket, for use of rash ointment later. The earth is soft and sticky beneath his feet, but he’s used to it. The hat on his head does little to provide coolness from the heat, but Doyoung doesn’t mind. Or at least, he can’t find it in himself to mind. 

It’s a nice reminder that this is all real, the constant burn against the back of his neck.

A soft pattering of feet run towards him. It’s Jeno, he can tell by the heavier footsteps and even pace. Distantly, he wonders what’s happened this time, but can’t be bothered to look up from the inspection of the green leaves, hands delicate to make sure he doesn’t harm the plant. 

“Doyoung!” He hears, over the laughter of children and the song of adults working. It’s probably not an emergency, Jeno doesn’t have that panicked breath that comes from emergencies. The basket is near filled anyhow, he’ll have to go back in soon anyways. “Doyoung! Johnny’s broken his leg again!”

“Can you take this basket back to my room for me?” Doyoung sighs, tucking the last few leaves into the basket, straightening to face Jeno. The first of the red fruits will be ready to be harvested soon, from the way they look heavy on the branches of the orchard trees. “Where are Johnny and Yuta this time?”

“If they stayed where I left them,” Jeno starts, taking the basket from Doyoung’s hands. His voice is deeper now, different from when Ten had first plucked him off the streets for them to raise. His babies are growing up now, and he wonders if their voices would have had the chance to deepen like this if they hadn’t spirited them away from the cities, “They’re still in the book room. Taeyong is with them.”

“Don’t be silly, the only man who can move Johnny is Johnny himself, and he can’t exactly move with a broken leg, can he?” Doyoung laughs, his voice blending in with the voices of the others working in the fields today. Jeno’s eyes become crescents, the beginnings of his two ten years beginning to set in. Doyoung can only thank Ten’s bleeding heart for swiping Jeno off the streets when he did. “I’ll go wash up and meet them up there then.”

A moon cycle is never complete without Johnny or Yuta breaking one of their bones each. They’re both lucky that Doyoung’s been gifted with healing and regeneration magic, and that Taeyong knows how to diffuse tempers as well as he can manipulate and purify water, otherwise they’d both be dead at least three ten times over. 

The water of the basin is cool against his dirty skin, washing away the dirt on his hands and feet, and soaking through the hem of his skirt. He’ll need to wash it later. If there is anything that living in the cities has taught him, it is that illness clings to the unclean, and it’s awfully uncomfortable to be caked with dirt for long periods of time. It rushes around him, the water, and with his skirt dripping wet, he steps onto the stone floor of the main building of the Sanctuary. The slabs are warm, not uncomfortably so, against the soles of his feet, a reminder of the fleeting warmth of the season of bounty.

No one is in the hallways at this time of day during the season of bounty, so if his pace is slightly faster than normal, slightly hurried as he climbs the steps to the Book Room, no one says anything. No one is there to say anything. Likely they heard whatever commotion Johnny and Yuta have caused this time, and have heard Johnny curse in languages that don’t exist anymore.

Pushing the rough hemp curtain aside to see Johnny’s leg in a strange position and Yuta panicking beside him is a strangely common sight to see. It’s too common for Doyoung to be bothered by it anymore. Doyoung’s more surprised that none of the books have fallen and that he can’t see Taeyong in the room. If his voice comes out irritated with the way he punctuates the words, Doyoung doesn’t have the heart to care. “What have you done this time?”

“How do you know it was me and not Yuta?” Johnny says, eyes twinkling with mirth. Doyoung wonders who decided that Yuta and Johnny would have a time together with no supervision today. It wasn’t Taeyong or him for certain. The sun shines lazily through the south window, and Doyoung resists the urge to whack Johnny on the head.

The stone is hard on his knees when he kneels besides Johnny’s gargantuan limbs. Doyoung silently hands a handkerchief to Yuta, because he can feel the stupidity about to sprout from his mouth. 

He’s done this enough times to know that this is just a slight fracture, probably, and all he needs to do is help the bone fix itself. Taeyong’s hands are a comforting weight against his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles against the tensed muscles. He’s not sure when Taeyong got here, but he’s entirely grateful. It allows him to focus all his energy to his hand and pushing it to the break, his hand starts to glow lightly with a soft green light. Johnny’s leg is warm beneath his hand, and he can feel the break slowly but surely fix itself. It drains him, exhaustion lightly brushing against his head. It’s not that bad of an injury, and Doyoung’s had a lot of practice with it, so he’s able to ignore the slight pulsing need for a nap.

“Are you sure you don’t need a nap?” Taeyong murmurs into the shell of his ear, blowing gently when he doesn’t make a move to answer. “You know no one minds, right?”

A loud creaking sound breaks the background noise of laughter and song, and all four of their heads snap in the direction of the window, watching in horror as the gate opens for the first time in eight season cycles. Doyoung can feel terror choking at his chest, he reaches for Taeyong’s hand, both their hands starting to lose feeling within them. Did the Monarchy find out? Is it possible that someone made it past the Forest of Unknown Things alive?

“Go Taeyong,” Doyoung mutters, squeezing Taeyong’s hand as tightly as possible, they won’t give this up without a fight. 

“Yuta, come with me,” Taeyong hisses, catapulting himself out the open window, the moisture in the air allowing him to cushion his fall. Yuta follows after, Palace training finally kicking in. Doyoung hisses when Johnny makes a move to follow them.

“We’ll follow them slowly.” Doyoung shakes his head, “You’ll break your legs again if you jump out of the window again like that.

No one ever uses the Main Gate, and he can feel the panic of the residents rising as it exposes them to the horror that is the outside world in full. The Gate takes a while to open, it’s made of stone and is likely jammed shut by all the cycles it hasn’t been opened. 

The laughter has stopped, the songs have quieted, but the sun is still shining, unaware of what might happen to the only ones who live directly under its light. The creaking continues on, silencing the noise of the forest behind it. 

Each step is heavy. Has their past finally caught up with them? Have they been discovered? Will the Monarchy carry through with their execution orders? If he listens carefully enough, will he hear the whispers of the engines the Monarchy uses to tear factories down, to keep people stamped firmly beneath their feet? Will the children they’d hoped would escape the brutality of people in power be sent off to labor camps they aren’t prepared for?

Standing in front of the opening gate is terrifying. They’ve ignored the rest of the world for so long, even with the visits from Mark, Yeri, and Ten, that feel surreal, Doyoung can’t help but wonder if this is the retribution for their inaction.

The boy who stands in the middle of the gates is extremely out of place. It’s a child of nobility, if the hoop skirts and pastel colors have anything to say about it. A second child, the finery dictates him as, the lace gloves and chiffon veil give him away as one of the Higher Nobility. Framing him, is the Forest of Unknown things, filled with neon colored plants and poison. The child looks so in place with the Forest behind him, so at home with the deadly beauty.

Why does the child look so in place with the Forest behind him?

“Lucas!” Ten calls, voice echoing in the silence of the sanctuary that has never known total silence before, not even during the moonlight hours. “Come meet your youngest brother!”

“You were the one who killed Xuxi-ge!” The child gasps, but their voice gives them away as perhaps someone as old as Jeno and Jaemin. Maybe older. “And now you’ve done the same to me.”

“I knew you were a smart kid.” Ten purrs, lips ghosting over the hand that he’s holding to his face, and it confuses Doyoung for a moment, before he remembers that Ten likes to be a nuisance to those he likes. The child must be a good one then, but Doyoung’s heart can’t help but twist in his chest for a little bit. This child has grown up in the cusp of the Monarchy, being waited on hand and foot by people like him, how will he adapt to doing his own work here? And the hierarchy in the Monarchy, the strict rules, Doyoung’s seen what it’s done firsthand to some of the best people. He’d watched as Sicheng turned from loving and touchy, and unafraid to show feelings to frosty, and that had been when he’d still lived in the palace.

And Sicheng had Kun and them to help shape morals, to keep him upright as a person. 

“Renjun?” Lucas’s voice is very deep, a clumsy hand reaches up to touch Renjun’s face. It looks strange, almost as if they were lovers in the stories of the Previous world. A lace gloved hand wraps tightly around the fingers on his face, crumpling the veil in his hands as he does so. “How is Guanheng holding up as heir? How are you doing?”

“Xuxi-ge,” Renjun says, yanking the veil off his face. The circlet holding the veil down clatters to the ground, and suddenly Renjun doesn’t look so in place with his giant skirts and fake diamonds. 

“Come with me, Renjun,” Taeyong says suddenly, “We’ll get you better clothes. Everyone, get back to work! Doyoung, go take care of Ten please.”

If the laughter and songs are a little bit quieter than before no one says anything. Taeyong’s got final say on who can come in and go, even if no one has come in or left since Mark last visited. They’ll be talking about this for days, Doyoung knows, perhaps until Renjun proves himself a capable enough person, or not the spoilt brat they believe him to be.

Doyoung does not want to be left alone with Ten, he hates the man, and he pouts at Johnny, trying to make him stay. Ten behaves when Johnny is around, Ten never listens to him. He doesn't like that, the last time they were together brings a redness to his cheeks. Johnny shakes his head, but it’s too late because he can feel Ten’s hand squeezing all the circulation out of his hand, getting ready to tug him away to wherever he’s chosen this time. Yuta and Johnny move to close the gates, and Doyoung watches as the colors of the Forest turn to the grey stone of the gates.

“Doyoung, I promise I love you.” Ten whispers into his ear, once they reach the relative privacy of Doyoung’s room. The loose fitting pants he wears occasionally flash scarred skin, which Doyoung winces at. Ten lays down on the pallet, and Doyoung hates that Ten’s aware of his soft spot for him. “Sicheng knows about this place”

“Ten,” Doyoung murmurs, brushing hands against the knife scars on Ten’s calves, some recent, too recent but too old for Doyoung to have been the one to dressed them, to hold his glowing hands over and watch the skin knit back together. “Do they hurt?”

“Doyoung! Sicheng knows about this place.” His voice is sharp, serious, piercing, begging him to find a meaning that he can’t quite grasp. Doyoung’s unsure of what Ten means, a strange exhaustion eating him. It should mean something to him, should set off warning bells, but Doyoung can’t quite bring himself to think about what that could mean. What is Ten praying about? “I promise I love you, and would never hurt you. I promise I love you.”

“I’m listening, Ten,” Doyoung murmurs, feeling the breeze play with his hair, soft, what is wrong with Sicheng knowing about this place? It’s a nice place, probably the only place where true happiness can be found. The cotton sheets are soft against his back, velvety, just as Ten’s once blemish free skin is. “Does it hurt?”

He should change, the set of clothes he’s wearing is not meant for sleep, not meant for napping. The world is shaking, splitting, splintering in a way it only does when something is very wrong. But what is wrong? Ten is here, Sicheng is safe, Taeyong will never leave him and Johnny and Yuta are alright. Well, they’re alright as in they haven’t broken any bones or anything like that lately. Doyoung doesn’t think they are quite alright in the head. He’s safe, and there’s no reason to believe he isn’t.

( _Sicheng knowing about this place means that the Monarchy_ has _found them, that the Rebellion knows they are here, it means they are not safe anymore._ Forgive him for being selfish, Sicheng. _Sicheng, Don’t look back. I promise I love you._ Doyoung and Taeyong take priority.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder to please comment! I Beg you to comment, what you minutes to read takes me hours of writing and editing, and English is not my first language, so any feedback is helpful!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm here to beg you to comment! What takes you a few minutes to read takes me hours of writing and editing, all I ask for is for you to write a quick comment and don't be a silent reader. Anyways I hope you enjoyed and have a nice day!
> 
> https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/  
> https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/article/muslims-held-in-chinas-detention-camps-speak-out/  
> http://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/  
> https://standwithhongkong.carrd.co/


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